


Hunger

by rhapsodisiac



Category: The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Kissing, Love, M/M, Oral Sex, POV Patroclus, figs lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-08
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2020-08-11 19:10:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20158639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhapsodisiac/pseuds/rhapsodisiac
Summary: Achilles dreams of figs. Patroclus dreams of Achilles. Slipping away from the cave on Mount Pelion, Patroclus has an idea that will satisfy them both.Hope you enjoy!





	Hunger

“I have been spoiled by you.” Achilles was stretched in the grass, speaking softly into the breeze. The two of us, after having gathered the day’s firewood, now lounged in the sun as Chiron bent over his stew pot, preparing lunch.

“I was getting by without my usual diet of figs up here,” he continued, eyes closed, the sun glowing upon his skin. “Now that I have had a taste, I find myself dreaming about it.” He opened one eye and poked at me with his foot, smiling. “You have ruined me.”

I traced the sole of his foot slowly with my finger. “Your ceaseless hunger is my fault?”

“It is by your hand that this hunger was stirred in me, Patroclus.”

I stopped touching him, gathering my hands in my lap and glancing to the mouth of the cave. His words stirred in me a hunger of my own, and by the satisfied smirk settled on Achilles’ lips, that had been his intention. Despite the pleasant warmth of the sun, I wished suddenly that it were night. It is only hours away, I told myself. I will excuse myself after dinner to retire early to our bed, and Achilles will follow.

But I was impatient.

“I think there may be some left.”

“Hm?” Achilles hummed at me.

“Figs,” I said. I had taken all that I could, so perfectly ripe as they were. But in my haste to return with his gift, I had left some behind. “There were some I could not reach, on the top branches. You could help me.”

He sat up.

“Is it far off?” His voice was low.

“Yes,” I said. He made a soft sound, and I could hear his smile in it. Since the night of our first passions, we treasured any moments we could steal together. In the cave at night or lazily in early morning, bathing at the water, pressing in close silence on a hunt. While it crossed my mind that the remaining fruits were probably overripe, or had fallen and been feasted upon by animals, we both knew that they were simply a means to slip away.

Achilles stood before me, offering me a hand to pull me to my feet.

“Chiron,” he began boldly. “Have we a while to gather some figs?”

“I believe there were some left,” I added.

Chiron didn’t look up from the pot, still stirring. “I doubt they will be as fresh. They have stayed long on their branches.”

Neither of us spoke or moved from our place before him. I shifted on my feet, not wanting to stand in defiance against our teacher, but Achilles’ firm stance was nothing if not determined to get a positive answer out of him.

Sensing our fixed desire to go, Chiron finally raised his eyes, looking back and forth between us.

“The stew could stand to simmer,” he allowed. His eyes settled momentarily on me. “Patroclus knows the way. Do not disappear for too long.”

“Thank you, Chiron,” I said. Achilles nudged my arm softly.

“Lead the way.” I bit back my smile until we crossed the threshold of the trees, his hand sliding into mine.

Padding through the woods, weaving my fingers between his, not needing to creep silently as we stalked a meal or mind our glances before our teacher, I felt not only joy, but the sense that this moment was a precious and fleeting thing. I felt the longing to stay hidden away on this mountain always, and the twinge of sadness in understanding that this wish could not be so. But as dappled sunlight broke through the canopy of leaves overhead and glinted off the golden hair at my side, I pushed this thought away, pretended we could, in fact, we would, linger here to see countless cycles of blushing springtimes and heated summers such as this. I leaned my weight into his shoulder, my steps slowing slightly.

“What is it?” Achilles asked, stopping beside me.

“I am happy,” I said. The simple honesty of my words embarrassed me. I hugged onto him, feeling like a child as I hid my face in his neck. His hands slid slowly along my back, warm and comforting.

“I am happy, too,” he spoke into my hair. It did not sound so childish from his lips. Perhaps it had not sounded so from mine, either. It was, after all, something I had learned from Achilles; to speak plainly, to cut to the heart of things.

Standing in our embrace, I became aware of the feel of his heartbeat against my chest, certain he could feel mine, too. A moment longer in his arms like this, I mused, and we may never reach our destination. I did not intend for this trip to be based entirely on a lie to Chiron. Pulling away, I smiled up at him, turned on my heel, and took off at a run.

I heard his surprised breath of laughter behind me, followed by the beat of his heels against the earth. Of course I could not outrun him, with his prophesied power and speed. But outrunning was not the point. I thrilled at the anticipation of him catching me.

He quickly gained on me, making a grab for my leg that sent me tumbling to the ground. There we wrestled in the grass, both breathless from laughter by the time I raised my hands in surrender. As he pulled me up, I spotted it over his shoulder; taking both his hands in mine, I led him to the lone fig tree.

We stood close under the wide shade of its leaves, staring up into them to find the tree’s hidden offerings.

“There.” I pointed to a plump, ripened fruit hanging heavily from a branch just out of reach. I moved to climb the trunk, but his arms winding around my waist stilled me.

“I will lift you.” His voice resonated below my ear, sweeping over my scalp like a chill. His arms tightened around me, muscles tensing as my feet left the ground beneath. It was a strange sensation, extending my arm above me as I hovered in the air, like I could fall at any moment yet not fearing it, knowing I was secure in Achilles’ grasp. His face pressed into the small of my back.

I gripped the dark fruit, twisting until the stem parted from its branch and plucking it away. I muttered softly that I had it. My body slid along his as he lowered me back to the earth. Though his eyes seemed to glow when I turned and handed it to him, he did not devour it as I guessed he might.

“After you.” He held the fig to my lips and I bit into the soft flesh—perhaps a bit too soft. Its juice spilled over my chin. I grimaced watching Achilles bite into the fruit, chewing thoughtfully.

“Chiron was right,” I said.

Despite this, Achilles ate the rest of the fig with a grin, leaning close to lick the nectar from my lips and press a soft kiss to them. The tenderness of it made my chest swell.

“Still worth it,” he said.

“Kiss me again.”

Our lips opened to one another and his tongue touched mine, sending a shiver through us both. I slid my hand up into the soft hair at the nape of his neck. I could feel the warmth of his hands at my waist through the thin fabric of my tunic, and the scrape of the gnarled tree at my back as he pushed closer.

I ached for him. When he pressed his hips to mine, I felt he was much the same as me. In that moment, I wanted nothing more than for him to keep me gripped there, pressing into each other again and again until pleasure rolled over us both. But I did not want to rush.

“I want you to touch me,” I whispered into his neck.

“I do believe we want the same things,” he whispered back, and I laughed, breathless as his hand crept up my inner thigh.

His hand circled around me. My breaths came hard and heavy, his slow movements making me rock against him. I ran my lips along his collarbone, kissing his chest. He sped up his rhythm and I moaned into his skin. I could hear the blood rushing in my ears, the pounding of my heart. All I ever wanted was this, yes, this and this—

“Wait,” I gasped, the frantic pleading in my voice stilling his hand. Crushing my eyes shut, I waited for the flood of feeling to ebb slightly. How quickly it could have been over. “Not yet,” I said, opening my eyes to find Achilles watching my face. I felt myself flush, nervous over the expressions that had crossed my face, the small sounds of pleasure I had made with his hands on me. But the brief flare of shame was smothered by the quickened pace of Achilles’ breath, the soft look in his eyes, the firm press of his arousal against my hip. There was no shame to be had under his gaze, no shame in this.

I smoothed my hands over his arms, gripping gently at his shoulders as I spun us in a slow half-circle, so that his back was to the tree, and it was I who pressed him there. Desire hung heavily in the air between us. I knelt before him.

He watched me silently, eyes dancing with mischief. I slid my hands along his muscled thighs, pushing his tunic up past his hips. I wanted to taste him. As I ran my tongue along his delicate skin, my name rushed from his lips like a startled question. It made me shudder, but I pulled back.

“Is this alright?”

“_Do not stop_.”

Feeling bold, I took him into my mouth. The sweet noises and moans dripping from his lips made me moan around him in return. One of his hands settled on the top of my head, and I brought my gaze up to look at him. He was staring back at me, our eyes meeting, and he groaned then, his hand gripping my hair.

I was agonizingly hard. That I was the one causing him to cry out so sent a thrill of pleasure through me. I longed to touch myself as he shuddered above me, though at the same time clung desperately to Achilles’ hips, not wanting to lose the feel of his skin beneath my hands. Every point of contact—palms, lips, tongue—felt necessary.

He said my name again with a whispered urgency and let out a half stifled cry. The warmth that filled my mouth was _him_, a nectar sweeter than that of the fruit, which I consumed hungrily and with divine reverence. He was half-god, after all.

“I— I am sorry, I…” He stuttered, sinking down before me. I kissed him softly to stop him; I did not want him to apologize. I was not sorry for what we had done. His eyes were heavily lidded, and he looked as if he could fall to sleep sitting up. But Achilles was not a selfish lover. He slid his hands over my chest, peeking at me through his lashes with a smile.

“May I return your favor?”

“Please.” Part answer, part begging entreaty. He quickly stripped me of my tunic and pushed me back into the grass, settling between my legs.

As I felt the heat of his mouth wrap around me, I knew it would not take long.

Slowly, I returned to myself. When I opened my eyes, I saw Achilles gazing down at me, color high. I caressed the side of his face, sweeping his hair away from his eyes and pressing a kiss to his temple. Half-god, yes. But his passion, his tenderness, his vulnerability—he was achingly, beautifully human.

He collapsed over me, the weight of his body pressing comfortably onto mine, skin warmed from the sun and our pleasure. “I could go again,” he sighed. But his stomach rumbled with a different hunger. He rolled from me and we laughed together in the grass.

“Come.” I nudged him playfully with my elbow. “Let us not keep Chiron waiting.”


End file.
